


Aftermath

by NixieD



Series: Courage [2]
Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Dubious Consent, Implied Violence, Injury, M/M, implied sexual violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-14
Updated: 2011-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-22 15:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NixieD/pseuds/NixieD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doyle wakes up after sleeping with Angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and all affiliated parties own the characters; I make no money from this and claim no ownership.  
> Warnings: Implied violence, sex, implications of not entirely consensual activities.  
> The follow up to Courage. Not light fare by any means. Third person point of view

Waking brings a bright burst of pain, with a hushed groan Doyle rolls and opens his eyes. Opening them to nothing but an empty room, the sheets not holding even the phantom of warmth; although it was only to be expected, Angel didn’t give of any heat, his body nothing but solid marble. Standing slowly, his body judders as it aches; he moves slowly, wandering into the bathroom, cataloguing the damage as he moves. Finger marks are bruised into his hips, blossoms of bites peppering his body.

With hesitation he steps in and turns on the shower, ribs groaning in the memory of Angel’s firm clasp. His pelvis creaks, the twinge of bruises along his back unseen but making themselves known. Last night was brutal and harsh, a rough enacting of his fantasy. But as the water pounds down on him he can’t exactly say he didn’t want it, because under all that roughness was everything he’d been looking for; passion.

Eyes closed, he reaches out to grab the soap, hand colliding with firm but cool flesh. Despite himself he flinches, the freezes, unsure as to what is going to happen next. He doesn’t breathe for moments, waiting for something, anything to happen. Hard fingers settle over their bruise counterparts and rigid lips press a whisper soft kiss to his neck. “I’m sorry.” His breath rushes out in a sob.


End file.
